


Dear Fellow Traveler

by Providentia67



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Family, Friendship, Gen, Mighty Nein as Family, Post-Canon, Sibling Bonding, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 05:55:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29912418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Providentia67/pseuds/Providentia67
Summary: Luc reads the neat script he’s memorized and repeated in his head a thousand times over by now.‘You’re ready.  Come, find me.’Come find me.  Luc remembers, hazy and with that foggy glamour of youth, the offer made to him when he was just a child.  The book tucked in the bottom of his haversack is burning a hole in his mind and his fingers twitch with the urge to cast.  He barely remembers the man his mother had trailed after for so much of his childhood.  He is nothing but a vague shape, tall and with hair like fire.  He’d been kind, Luc thinks he remembers, and sad.--Twenty years after Veth comes home, Luc is ready to strike out on his own.  His first order of business, meet up with an old friend, follow up on a promise made, and reacquaint himself with the wizard who both stole and broke his mother's heart.
Relationships: Luc Brenatto & Caleb Widogast, Luc Brenatto & Kiri, Luc Brenatto & Nott | Veth Brenatto, Luc Brenatto & The Mighty Nein, Nott | Veth Brenatto & Caleb Widogast
Comments: 14
Kudos: 91





	1. Chapter 1

Collecting the sum of his personal belongings and stuffing them into a collection of sacks and cleverly sewn pouches is surprisingly easy. Or maybe, not so surprising as it should be. Luc has always been a light packer. He stuffs a square of leather cloth into his breast pocket and palms the carefully wrapped collection of crossbow bolts still resting on his bedside table. He counts ten bolt shafts, totaling an even thirty when added to the two packs he already has stuffed in his haversack. 

With a shuffling of his shoulders he tucks part of his cloak under one arm and stuffs the bolts away, stored separate from the pack of bolts he knows glisten with a quick acting poison. Never too careful, never underprepared. With the last of his items stored, Luc casts a look to his bed and the napping blink dog currently occupying most of its surface. With a grin, he ruffles the hair between Nugget’s elegantly long ears and chuckles quietly when the old dog snuffles and instinctively rolls on his side to give Luc access to his belly. He obliges gladly, and spends a good minute giving his childhood companion a heavy dose of scritches before the creaking of his wooden door alerts him to another’s arrival.

“Look at you, you look like an honest adventurer.” 

Luc pauses, and beneath him Nugget whines in his sleep, objecting to the loss of attention. He turns to find his mother leaning her shoulder on the doorway, arms crossed and hands tucked against her sides. She looks happy, but the half-tilt smile on her face is bittersweet. “Almost ready,” he says, and looks back to Nugget before he can see her smile drop. He pets Nugget one more time, tracing his thumb over the dog’s greying cheek before stepping away.

A set of plump but calloused hands fall on his shoulders. “Are you absolutely sure-”

“Mom!” He doesn’t pull away, but it is a near thing. The wrist crossbow gloved to his left arm creaks as he balls his hands into fists. “Don’t start.”

The hands leave his shoulders immediately. “Okay, okay. Just making sure.” He turns to face her then, and even as he struggles to meet her eyes, he notes his father entering the doorway.

“Veth, honey. We've talked about this, remember?” From over Veth’s shoulder, Yeza gives him an encouraging nod. “Let’s not fight today.”

“You’re right.” Veth steps back, one hand going up to play at the grey-streaked braid over her shoulder. “It’s just- oh, look at you.” One more time, and with matching sighs from the Brenatto men, she steps forward to cup Luc’s cheeks. He marvels again at how rough they are.

“I’m so proud. And terrified.” Behind her faintly glimmering tattoos, his mother’s eyes are wide. “But mostly proud.”

Luc lifts his arms to take his mother by the wrists and guide them down. “I know, Ma. I know.” He holds her hands for a moment and turns a grin to his father. “I’m ready.”

“I know you are,” says Yeza, and he steps forward to gently pry his wife away by the shoulders. He wraps her in a backwards hug, resting his chin on her shoulder, glasses slightly askew. They look at him with matching smiles.

“If you get in trouble with the law, you call your Aunt Beau, you hear me?” says Veth. “Not that you’ll get caught,” she adds, a spark of mischief in her eyes.

“Not that you’ll be doing anything illegal,” says Yeza, and Luc gives him a smile. Outside of Yeza’s view, his mother is mouthing ‘no’ so obviously it almost makes him laugh. 

“Right,” he says, and scratches the back of his neck. “Take care of Nugget for me.”

Yeza perks, almost as though he’s remembered something. “You’ve got everything? Food, water, money? Your tinker's kit?”

“Thieves’ tools?” asks Veth.

Luc lifts his cloak and fingers the folded pack on his hip. It tinkles as he rattles the collection of picks and metal wires stored within. “I’ve got everything guys, I swear.” He slides his hand back to the main body of his haversack, cognizant of the small collection of books tucked away there. “I’ll write to you, once I’ve made it.”

“Find someone to cast sending,” Veth says, tone a bit urgent. “You can’t trust the post, there’s all sorts of weirdos who like to steal mail.”

“Okay, okay.” Their goodbye is beginning to get a bit dragged out. There’s an itch in Luc’s feet, an urge to wander, to be on his way. 

His father must notice his inching towards the doorway because he breaths a deep sigh and smiles. “You can go, son. It’s time.”

And they say no more words, not until they’ve left his room and made it to the front steps of their small home, Felderwin’s grassy streets mostly empty in the cool, dewy morning. There, Luc gives his parents each a long and warm hug and politely ignores the way his mother’s breathing hitches as she lets him go. “You’ll do great out there,” she whispers in his ear. It is the last thing she says to him before he is waving his goodbye and setting off along the road that will lead him out of town. He feels his parents’ eyes upon him up until he pulls the hood of his mother’s cloak over his head and feels the elven magic take hold. He falls out of their view and finally, Luc is alone.

Hupperdook is some distance away, especially for a halfling on foot. Luckily for him, he doesn’t exactly intend to make the complete journey. At least, not alone, and he pulls out the map of the Dwendalian Empire he’d gotten for his sixteenth birthday from his Uncle Fjord.

His mother had called the gift cheap, and spent the rest of the night sneakily pickpocketing anything of Fjord’s she could get her hands on, but Luc had loved it. On the single sheet of parchment he had what felt like the whole Empire laid out before him, and when the rest of the Mighty Nein started scribbling little notes for him over different locations, it quickly became the greatest gift he’d received all night. 

Luc runs his thumb across the drawn in sea dragon under the Menagerie Coast and smiles at the three yellow eyes and grumpy face that had been graffitied over the original art. Over the scribbles he reads the hastily written ‘Come visit!’ Jester had left for him. Next time, he thinks, and recenters his attention to the Gravelway Path which will lead him, hopefully, to his destination.

He is already well on his way, and by the time his belly starts to grumble and alert him that it is time to eat, he has already started on the paved road. A half-dead ash tree a short distance off the cleared pathway calls his name, so with feet tiring and hands already reaching into his haversack for a cloth-wrapped piece of bread, he settles himself into a pocket of its knotted roots. Luc leaves the head of his cloak up, just in case, but shuffles the rest of his gear out of the way, sets aside his wrist crossbow, and arranges the braid of his ever-lengthening hair off to the side so he can eat in peace.

As it is already well past noon, Luc watches as the Gravelway Path becomes more and more populated before his eyes. A tented cart pulled by two horses and tended to by a middle-aged human passes him by, heading in the direction of Felderwin. The cart driver waves at him as he passes, and Luc nods back, careful to make no show of interest as to the goods being carried in back. He spots two armed guards sitting in the cart bed, mercenary by the mismatched look of them, and he has no interest in tangling. Besides, and Luc pats the right pocket of his haversack, he has all the coin he needs and he isn’t even counting the little bag of platinum he knows his mother snuck him.

The cart passes without issue, and a pair of halflings on ponies later on, traveling north in the same direction as Luc. One calls out to him, offering company in exchange for protection but Luc turns them down. He’s not much of a mercenary and has his own plans on top of that. The pair leave, a bit disappointed but no worse for wear as Luc finishes his meal and prepares to set off once again. He packs away the remainder of his bread and stuffs a small piece of cheese in his mouth for good measure before reaching for the glove of his wrist crossbow.

His hand meets empty grass. Half-chew in motion, Luc’s eyes dart to the ground and then wildly in every direction. “Crap. Crap, crap, crap!” His father would wash his mouth out with soap, but Luc can’t stop the string of swears as he rushes around the trunk of the ash tree in search of what he knows has been stolen.

“Oh, come on!” He digs his fingers in his hair, disheveling his braid, and drops to the dirt on his knees. “It hasn’t even been a day!” His mother will never let him out of the house again if she finds out. Luc scrabbles in his bag and pulls a dagger out, quickly arranging himself in a ready position.

If his wrist crossbow was stolen, he isn’t alone, and he is only now seeing all the potential hideaways in the line of trees several yards away. “Nice going, Mr. Adventurer,” he says, stalking off towards the trees and scanning the ground for any sign of his mystery thief.

Once under the spotted canopy, Luc hugs the shadows, keeping under the boughs of trees with heavier cover to stay out of the dappled sunlight, and scans the space for any signs of unnatural movement. As with the potential for thieves, he doesn’t think to look up until he hears the branches above him creak.

“Shi-” he brings his dagger up and turns, making a blind slash for whoever or whatever drops on him from above. His blade meets nothing but air as a bony, hard-skinned foot collides with his forearm and kicks it away. Luc finds himself unbalanced, and as a large figure barrels down on him, he loses his footing and tumbles flat on his back.

“Mr. Adventurer,” a male voice calls out to him, a clicking that almost sounds like laughter following the sardonic mockery. Hands covered in something soft tangle themselves over his shoulders and Luc wrestles a knee up to his chest to kick his attacker away. Something squawks and suddenly Luc is free, he turns and darts away, dashing towards the nearest tree cover and hiding behind what looks like the most inconspicuous trunk. There, he hugs his knife to his chest and tries to catch his breath.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Mystery thief curses and he hears shuffling before another voice entirely calls, “Say, hello to everyone you meet!” This one is a woman, who sounds a mix of cheerful and sad, before another string of clicks trails off into silence.

A thought tickles in the back of Luc’s mind. Some of the tension beginning to bleed from his shoulders, he peeks out around his tree trunk. He spots a figure a good head or two taller than him standing out in the open, shoulders dipped and and head bowed. They are clothed all in black with two short, cloth-wrapped pieces of wood strapped to a belt on their waist. From what he can see past the tight hood pulled over their head, something that looks suspiciously like a curved beak pokes out.

Luc’s heart skips. “Kiri?”

The figure jumps, a very birdlike chirp escaping from their beak, before they turn in his direction. Two bright yellow eyes blink at him. “Kiri?” she mimics back, the feathers on her bare arms slightly puffed.

“Oh my gosh, Kiri!” He rushes from the shadows and darts to the Kenku, wrapping her feathery yet lean form in a tight hug. A curved beak presses against the back of his shoulder as he is hugged back and lifted off the ground slightly as Kiri puts her whole body into the embrace. “It’s so good to see you!”

“It’s so good to see you!” his own voice calls back. They’re both laughing and it takes a while and the both of them settling with legs crossed on the ground before they have their excitement under control enough to actually speak.

Luc stares across the space between two trees to what is essentially his adoptive sister, and grasps for words. “You made it,” he settles for.

“Made it.” She clicks and digs a feathery hand into the pouch at her side and pulls out Luc’s wrist crossbow, tossing it across to him with an unfamiliar chuckle. “Don’t lose it,” an elderly man’s voice scolds him.

Lips twisted in a pout, Luc catches his father’s device and slides the glove over his left hand. “You stole it,” he says.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Kiri repeats again, head tossing back in a laugh.

“Yeah, yeah,” Luc waves her off and tests the crossbow's sight on a distant bird's nest. Satisfied that Kiri hasn’t accidentally damaged his favorite weapon, he drops his hands between his knees. “So,” he says. “You’re really coming? You’re gonna come with me?”

Kiri nods, her bright eyes blinking and she pulls a folded piece of parchment tucked into the folds of her leather-strapped tunic. She holds it out for Luc to inspect and he takes it, pulling out a matching note from his own belt. It’s finely made paper, crisp, and of the finest quality for transcribing magic spells. Luc reads the neat script he’s memorized and repeated in his head a thousand times over by now.

_‘You’re ready. Come, find me.’_

Come find me. Luc remembers, hazy and with that foggy glamour of youth, the offer made to him when he was just a child. The book tucked in the bottom of his haversack is burning a hole in his mind and his fingers twitch with the urge to cast. He barely remembers the man his mother had trailed after for so much of his childhood. He is nothing but a vague shape, tall and with hair like fire. He’d been kind, Luc thinks he remembers, and sad.

His mother had cried the day Luc had found the note, tied with a ribbon to the tail of an orange tabby cat. She’d wept and hugged the cat with glowing blue eyes until it had exploded in a shower of amber sparks in her arms. Luc had never asked why, after Veth had finally come home, her friend had never come to visit them again. Yeza had brought him quietly to the side and warned him it would be best not to mention it. Even still, Luc knew the loss was felt. It was in the way his mother would sit in their living room and stare into the fireplace for hours on end. The way she’d look at Luc sometimes and it felt like her eyes were focused a thousand miles away. Not always, not even often, but sometimes was enough for Luc to recognize his mother’s grief.

“So.” Kiri breaks him out of his blank stare, and when he looks up from their notes she is still watching him with a curious tilt to her head.

“Sorry.” Luc tucks the notes away, handing Kiri hers and standing to his feet. “Shall we?” They’re burning daylight, and if they hope to backtrack enough to make it to Rillway Road before nightfall, they’ll need to start off soon. And past that, Zadash awaits.

Kiri is at his side in seconds, cloak hood pulled down from her head and steps boisterous. She wraps her feathered hand around his arm and tugs. “Shall we?”

Luc nods and follows her back on the road.


	2. Chapter 2

Zadash is a looming metropolis, and against the greying sky of the early morning the towering Tri-Spire is apt to seem dark and severe. To Luc however, although not so to Kiri, the mismatched peaks cleaving their way through the foggy sky are a familiar, even welcoming view. Luc stands at the border of his and Kiri’s campsite, hood pulled up and arms crossed tightly against his chest to insulate against the morning chill. His eyes train over what he can see of the tree-line, and while the sounds of Kiri’s fussing over the dying coals of their fire fill his ears, he mentally blocks out the acrid scent of smoke and tries instead to focus on the feel of dew drops against his skin and damp earth beneath his feet.

“Shall we?” Kiri’s approach is silent, and it is only the sound of Luc’s own voice in his ears that alerts him to her presence at his shoulder. She has her pack slung over one shoulder and her tambos back in place, threaded through her belted sash. She tilts her head and blinks. “Shall we?” she says again.

“Yeah. Yeah, sorry. Let’s go.” Shaking away the clouds in his head, Luc smiles and thumps Kiri on the shoulder before plucking his haversack from the ground. Together they embark on what is their third day of travel, and if their pace is good, will make the northern gates of Zadash by mid-day.

It’s not hard to rejoin the main body of Rillway Road. The nearer they approach the city borders, the heavier the traffic of migrants and merchants whose footsteps paved the original path. The pair sidle behind a tented cart being driven by a middle-aged human and put on their most pleasant faces. “Have I told you I’ve been here before?” he asks while taking a peek towards the half-raised portcullis. There are two pairs of flanking crownsguard stationed on either side of the road monitoring entry and exit from the city.

“Oh!” says Kiri, her mimicry just a tad on the side of exclamation rather than inquiry.

Luc nods. “Yeah. Spent a while here.” He’s spent a while in a lot of places, and the thought makes his eyes drift to the flash of brown skin he can see at the break between his crossbow glove and sleeve. To this day he’s still not sure if his darker skin tone is inherited from his mother, or the Nicodranian sky. “The people aren’t too bad. A bit rough around the edges and the crownsguard can be assholes but honestly, who isn’t?”

His main concern, as he watches the crownsguard perform a random inspection on a pair of visiting dragonborn, is passing through with Kiri. He himself and his halfling stature almost certainly won’t draw more than a glance from the local authority. Kiri though is a kenku, and as such might warrant a bit more attention. “Just try to be nice. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Yes, I’m very sweet!” she mimics, and the sound of his Aunt Jester’s voice, younger than he’s heard it in some time, brings a soft smile to his lips.

“Exactly.”

The merchant and his cart pass with a quick statement of business and a peek under the cart tent to confirm the nature of his goods, but otherwise go through unaccosted by the crownsguard. That leaves Luc and Kiri, who has her hood pulled up but the effect is minimal when taking into consideration her bare and feathered arms, protruding beak, and obviously avian feet. As they approach, they are hailed by one of the crownsguard who lifts a hand to block their path. He appears human, and quick glance at his fellows suggests the others are too. Luc plasters on his best smile and steps closer to Kiri. 

“Hello there, friend. What brings you to Zadash?” The crownsguard smiles back, pushing back the brim of his slightly oversized helmet to get a better look at the two travelers. His eyes track to Kiri and seem to want to linger, but Luc clears his throat and pulls the guard’s focus back to him. 

Luc squares his shoulders and attempts to look as large as possible, a bit difficult when he barely brushes three and a half feet. Without trying, Kiri stands a good two feet taller. “Visiting extended family,” he says, and even as he raises his voice, this time he can’t keep the crownsguard from zeroing on Kiri.

“And you? The same?” 

Kiri chirps and cocks her head. “Visiting extended family.” 

Luc flinches a bit as his exact phrasing and intonation echo from Kiri. He knows she can’t help it, but he’d hoped she had something in her repertoire a little less conspicuous. “She’s with me.” He grabs Kiri’s hand and tugs, urging her to move behind him.

There is a furrow between the guard’s eyes and he scratches at the back of his neck, glancing on either of his sides to see if his fellow crownsguard have anything to say. So far, they seem wholly disinterested. “Don’t think I’ve seen her kind before,” he says at last, rallying himself.

Luc’s smile turns strained. “Is that a problem?” He’s already released his grip on Kiri, and instead his right hand drifts to a shallow pouch strapped to the back of his belt. He dashes his index finger into a collection of thick cream and when the guard looks like he is about to speak, reaches up with that same hand, tipping his chin so no one can see the smear of rouge he paints across the underside of his jaw. 

“Listen, friend.” The intent of his action grants a spark of the arcane to his words. Luc keeps eye contact with the guard and waits for the tell-tale glassy sheen of enchantment to take hold. “Why don’t we just-”

“Leave them be, Merrin.” The interruption of another guard rocks Luc’s focus and he winces as the spell dies in its crib. Balling his hand into a fist to hide the rouge, he glances towards the newcomer approaching from the opposite side of the road. “She’s a kenku. Just because you haven’t seen one, doesn’t mean there’s anything strange about them.” The guard lays a hand on his comrade’s shoulder and guides him out of the way before turning and waving Luc and Kiri through.

Kiri straightens and chirps, her head tilting a near ninety degrees as she fixes the human with an unblinking stare. The second guard holds her attention and nods. “Forgive my dull friend,” he says, lifting a hand to the center of his breastplate. Only then does Luc notice the raven-feather amulet dangling from his neck.

“Thank you.” Luc nods to both guards before grabbing Kiri’s hand and rushing through. He feels a swell of relief as they pass beneath the shadow of the portcullis and into the bustling interior of the city.

“And kid!” 

Luc comes to an abrupt halt, glancing over his shoulder as he hears the second guard calling out to them. The man gives him a wry smile and taps the underside of his jaw. “Some people may be idiots, but that doesn’t mean they deserve to get enchanted. Keep your magic to yourself while you’re here, understood?”

Panic bubbling, Luc wipes a palm under his jaw. He bites his lip as he realizes just how much the guard is letting him off the hook. “Y-Yes, sir. Sorry.”

“As long as we’re clear. Have a good day.” With a small salute, the guard turns and wanders back towards the gate, leaving Luc and Kiri alone and to their own devices. 

With cheeks burning hot with embarrassment and just a bit of shame, Luc looks towards the city skyline. “Come on, Kiri.” They wander through the streets of Zadash with equal measures of familiarity and interest. Despite having combed the Innerstead Sprawl many times in his younger years, the past two decades in Felderwin have accustomed Luc to the calm and sleepy atmosphere of a small village, the crowded hustle of Zadash is one that he can’t help but be swept up in.

Kiri on the other hand, seems surprisingly well-adjusted to the environment, bobbing and weaving through passersby and taking second-long glances at nearby carts and through the windows of the different establishments populating the commercial district for Zadash’s middle-class. Perhaps the work-hard, party-harder mentality of Hupperdook had familiarized her with living life at a fast pace.

“Here, over here.” Although it takes him an hour or two to reacquaint himself with the city streets, Luc manages to guide himself and Kiri to their primary destination by the time day begins to age into late afternoon. With the sun blazing a late orange at their backs he pulls Kiri to a stop at the small, ramshackle tavern entrance known to the local populace as the Evening Nip.

Noticing the first signs of confusion in the fluffing of feathers along Kiri’s shoulders, Luc chuckles to himself as he tugs her inside. The place is a dive, as is its purpose and intention, and if not for his grip on her feathered hand, he’d lose Kiri immediately in the dim light cast by the tavern’s few scattered lanterns. Clive is there, the old dwarf sitting behind the bar and scratching idly at the bristled, crisped end of his mismatched beard. Opposite that, the tavern’s only customer is a rough-looking half-orc planted face first in a puddle of his own ale. The smell of the place is foul and Luc can’t help the wrinkling of his nose. 

Beside him, Kiri’s feathers puff in discomfort for a moment before she settles and wanders off. He spares her a flash of concern as she perches beside the passed-out half-orc and pokes his cheek, but when the bar crawler does nothing more than let out a sleepy burp he figures he can leave her be. Instead, he clears his throat and strolls up to the bar counter where Clive meets his focus with a beady stare. “Can I help you?”

“Hey, Clive. Yes, I-uh, just a moment- Kiri!” Luc glares over his shoulder when Kiri decides to let out a piercing squawk in an attempt to rouse the bar’s only other occupant.

The dwarf jerks, blinking a couple of times and rubbing a knuckle against his ear. “Oh, don’t bother,” he says, tossing the words in Kiri’s direction. “Man’s always here, just let him be.”

“Kiri, come on.”

With one last tickle of a feathered finger in the half-orc’s ear Kiri backs off, jogging up to Luc’s side as he runs a hand down the length of his face. “Why did I think bringing you along was a good idea?”

Kiri punches him in the shoulder and Luc grunts, catching himself on the bar. She chirps. “I’m very sweet.” At the sound of her voice the dwarf lifts an eyebrow. Luc wonders if it sounds familiar.

“You were saying?” the dwarf asks, leaning forward across the bar counter with his eyes squinted.

“Right.” Luc clears his throat and lifts himself on his toes. “We’re here to see the Gentleman,” he says, muttering the words quietly just in case the half-orc is not the plant he suspects he is. 

Rather than a conspiratorial nod or hum of understanding, Luc watches as Clive’s shoulders tense beneath his ratty shirt and from behind, Luc hears the creaking of rotted wood as the heretofore unconscious half-orc pushes back his chair and stands to his feet. 

Oh. Whoops.

“Crap, crap, crap!” Unaware of Luc’s slip, Kiri puts her back to Luc’s and pulls the two tambo sticks from her belt, readying them in either hand. The talons of her feet dig into the ratty wood of the tavern floor and Luc knows she is ready to launch herself forward at the first act of provocation.

“Care to run that by me again?” the dwarf asks, pulling a mean-looking hand axe from behind the counter and setting it at his side.

“Woah, woah, woah!” Luc pivots on Kiri’s shoulder and holds his hands up to either of the two gatekeepers. “My bad, I forgot-HEY!” Flexing the muscles of his wrist, Luc feels his crossbow snap open and prime itself as his focus narrows on the approaching half-orc. The tusked guard halts his stalking approach on Kiri, shortsword freezing in mid-swing.

“Careful there, lad.” Clive’s voice is low and chittering, an edge of dark humor in his tone. Although Luc has his face turned away, he suspects the dwarf’s head is bobbing with swallowed laughter. “Why don’t you put that toy down, ‘n we can have nice, _long_ chat.”

“Go fuck yourself!” Kiri follows up her favorite battlecry with a screeching caw. Luc can feel the brush of feathers against his neck and he moves in tandem with Kiri as she shifts to put herself between him and the dwarf. 

Luc doesn’t turn away from the half-orc. His quickdraw bolts might look like toothpicks to the much larger man but that doesn’t mean they won’t hurt like a bitch when they land. Fortunately for him, Luc doesn’t much feel like initiating this reunion with blood. “Clive,” he says. “I’m now realizing you probably don’t remember me, but I swear if you don’t back off from my sister and tell your guard dog to put his fucking sword down, I’m gonna put a bolt through his eye.”

He can hear Kiri’s talons working at the wood floor. She’s itching to act, but he knows she’ll wait for his signal. “So?” she asks him, drawing as much volume from her mimicry as she can to whisper.

“Brave words, sonny. But you’re right, I don’t know you.” At some unseen signal, the half-orc lowers his weapon. His stance is not relaxed, but neither is it immediately aggressive. “I’ll give you one go-”

“I’d like a drink.” As Luc says the words he can see the last of the half-orc’s tension leak from his body, and by the way Kiri relaxes behind him, he suspects the same is true for Clive. Luc twitches his wrist again and his quickdraw bolt slots out of place. He lowers his arm. “And while I have no coin,” he says, “I’d be willing to offer many gifts.”

The half-orc sits back down in an instant, seamlessly dropping back into his drunken act without much thought or fanfare. Kiri chirps, and when Luc turns, it is to see Clive settling back down behind the corner with a tired sigh. “Hell, kid.” He drops his axe on the counter and pours himself a drink. “If you knew the line, why didn’t you just say it? Give an old man a heart attack, why don’t you.” Downing the dark, amber liquid in a single gulp, the dwarf sighs and shuffles off towards the storeroom in the darkest corner of the bar. He waves for them to follow. “I’m getting too old for this shit.”

“Sorry,” says Luc, pausing at the narrow doorway with Kiri pressing against his back. “It’s been a while. Guess I’ve changed a bit since I was last here.”

The dwarf grunts and reaches an arm into the storeroom. He fiddles for a bit before Luc hears the creaking of metal and a familiar trap door pops open from the storeroom floor. Clive wanders over and hauls it the rest of the way free, revealing a darkened staircase that descends past what Luc can see in dim light.

“Go on,” the dwarf urges. “Haven’t got all day.”

Luc offers a genuine smile as he takes Kiri’s hand. “Thanks, Clive,” and tosses the old dwarf one of his mother’s platinum pieces as they plunge into the dark. 

The staircase doesn’t go far, perhaps forty feet and curving left towards the ever-growing sounds of a far more lively tavern scene. Luc picks up his pace, tugging Kiri through an open archway and into a lively bar with stone walls and maybe a dozen patrons wandering about and sitting in a collection of tables and booths that run along the bar’s length. In an isolated corner, a small bardic troupe consisting of a gnomish girl, two humans, and an elf fill the space with jaunty music while a collection of guests, most of which appear some level of intoxicated, dance to the tune. Spread out and around, other, far more sober patrons sit in their own isolated groups, looking appropriately seedy for what one might expect of an underground establishment. 

“This is SO cool!” In what sounds like the voice of a young boy, Kiri hops in excitement and flits her head every which way in an attempt to take it all in. Luc can’t help grinning as he watches her, and it helps him to compartmentalize the raw and shattered parts of himself that remember the reasons for his first visit here.

“Go, have some fun.” Luc pats Kiri on the shoulder and nods towards the bar. “I’ll look for the Gentleman.” She doesn’t have to be told twice. With a hop and a chirp, Kiri is off, dancing through the crowd like she was born to be there. Within moments she’s elbowed her way onto one of the few unoccupied stools and is waving at the human woman behind the corner for attention. Suitably abandoned, Luc shakes his head and does his best to dodge the clumsy, drunken steps of the larger humans, half-elves, and dragonborn patrons and casts his eyes out for his intended target. To the far right, and at the distant end of the bar he finds a familiar looking table, cleared and of appropriate prominence, made of a fine-looking mahogany. Resting dead center, a high-backed chair set with red velvet cushions sits unoccupied, although it is pushed out slightly, like it has just been vacated.

Luc wanders up, glancing about at the two balconies on opposite ends of the bar for any signs of blue or red skin.

“Looking a bit shifty there.” Stepping out of his periphery and into view, Luc stiffens as an ashy-blue tiefling dressed in a mismatched set of leather armor moves past him and around the table. He looks young, probably no older than Luc, and his features are soft with the smallest remainders of adolescence clinging to his cheeks and narrow shoulders. Ribbed horns that curl like a ram’s sit half-disguised by a tangle of navy-black curls. The small hairs at the back of Luc’s neck rise as he meets a pair of yellow, pupil-less eyes. “Can I help you?” asks the tiefling.

“Maybe.” says Luc. “I was hoping to have a word with the Gentleman.”

“Really?” Continuing on his path to the table, the tiefling approaches, his long tail sashaying back and forth. Luc swallows as the display reveals, rather than a spaded end, a sharpened metal cap that has been strapped to the tail’s narrow point. “That’s bold of you. Asking to see the boss when I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.” Making full use of his height advantage, the tiefling stares down at Luc with blank yellow eyes as he sets one hand against the table and the other along the hilt of a longsword on his belt.

Despite the apparent threat, Luc can’t help his snort of amusement. “And how long have you been here?” he asks, crossing his arms against his chest and allowing full display of the wrist crossbow gloved to his left hand. “Trust me, I’m not new.”

The tiefling’s eyes narrow as he considers the weapon, and his tail picks up an agitated sway. His focus snaps back to Luc. “Okay, let’s say I believe you. What’s your business with him?”

“Information. I’m looking for someone, and as far as I’ve heard, the Gentleman’s probably my best bet to find them.”

“Bounty hunter, huh.” It’s not phrased like a question, so Luc doesn’t treat it like one as the tiefling fixes him with a long, penetrating stare. A tapered fingernail taps a considering pattern against the tiefling’s lower lip and after a moment, he pauses. “What’s your name?”

“Luc,” he says. “Luc Brenatto.”

His family name must spark some recognition because the tiefling straightens immediately, yellow eyes widening as his tail drops to wraps around his leg. “Brenatto,” he repeats.

“I’m Kiri!”

The tiefling doesn’t react, but Luc breaks into a smile as he feels Kiri sidle up beside him, apparently having noticed the small confrontation brewing outside her focus. The kenku has her chest puffed and head lowered so that the tiefling has a full view of her bright, yellow eyes. The tiefling’s nose curls and he angles his horns in response.

“You should have said so sooner,” he says, tone begrudging as he lifts a hand to his mouth and makes a sharp whistle. A large goliath, bald and with a hefty collection of scars across his bare chest perks up from across the room and turns his eyes on their small group. “Tell the Gentleman he has a guest!” says the tiefling and the goliath nods before disappearing up the winding flight of stairs he’d been guarding.

They wait in awkward silence, the tavern-goers around them seemingly unaware of the strange tension between the mismatched trio. Luc rocks on his heels and adjusts the fall of his braid over one shoulder. “So,” he says. “You know our names, it seems only fair we know yours.”

The tiefling, who up until then had been drumming his fingers impatiently against his arm, turns his attention from the empty stairs back to Luc. “Aeon,” he says after a moment. “You can call me, Aeon.”

“Aeon.” Luc tastes the name on his tongue. Something about it reads false, but at the same time he knows from his Aunt Jester that tieflings often choose their own names when they reach adulthood. Maybe that’s what he’s sensing, and the name isn’t so much a lie as it is simply new and unpracticed.

“Luc Brenatto!” A boisterous cry from the base of the stairs pulls the entirety of the bar’s attention, and Luc flushes as a fair number of eyes drift from its source to him. “Welcome back, my boy!” A quieter chuckle and for the first time in many years Luc takes in the teal-skinned water genasi striding across the bar in their direction. His hair has gone mostly grey, stray streaks of black still clinging to the edges and peppering his finely cut goatee, and his cheeks are hollow, like age has diminished his build somewhat. Still, his steps are lively and just as always, a sheen of perpetual moisture emanates from his every pore. The Gentleman nods to Aeon, who dips his chin and circles back around the table to stand on the opposite side of the high-backed chair from the goliath. Together they flank the genasi who takes a seat and gestures for Luc and Kiri to do the same.

“Come, let me look at you.” There is a sparkle of mischief in the Gentleman’s eyes as he takes Luc in. “How long has it been? Ten, fifteen years?” 

“Longer than that, I think.” Luc chuckles and scratches the side of his temple. “ I was what, eight?”

“Indeed, indeed.” The Gentleman nods, stroking the body of his goatee for a moment before smirking. “My Marion was so taken with you already. She’d have stolen you for herself if not for that blasted she-devil you call a mother. How is Veth, by the way?”

“Good. She’s um- she’s healthy and uh, yeah.” Luc feels the words slipping from his tongue like water and so, abandons them. “Anyway, this is-”

“I am Kiri!” Kiri blusters through Luc’s stuttered introduction and leans over the table, holding out her hand. “I’m very sweet!”

“Indeed.” The Gentleman’s eyes go wide and for an extended moment he stares very long and a bit melancholy at Kiri’s face before a smile peeks at the edges of his lips. He leans forward and takes the hand offered to him with a gentle reverence. “Charmed, my dear Kiri. I’ve heard much about you.”

A new voice comes from Kiri then, one that teases at the edges of Luc’s recognition and one he has not heard from her before. It is quiet, a bit nervous, and tinged with a Zemnian accent. As she sits back in her chair she asks, “this means we are friends?”

The Gentleman eases back into his chair, straightening his posture a bit as he runs a hand across his mouth. “But of course. My daughter would have my head otherwise.” There is a fond warmth in his tone and he gestures at the both of them to speak. “Come, come. I heard you were in need of some assistance, so ask away.”

“Okay then.” Luc also sits up, edging at the corner of his chair with his hands braced against his knees. His toes barely brush the floor, which is probably for the best otherwise he’d be bouncing them off the ground. “I was hoping you could help me find someone,” he says.

One of the Gentleman’s greying eyebrows arcs and he gives Luc a considering look from top to bottom. “The odds are good, I have many resources at my disposal. Tell me, who?”

“You already know him. He came here a couple times with my mother and the rest of the Mighty Nein.” Luc watches the Gentleman as he nods in understanding. He pauses for a moment over the name he hasn’t dared speak aloud in some time, too aware of the effect even hearing it had on his mother’s mood. Luc takes a deep breath. “I'm looking for Caleb Widogast.”


End file.
